


the perfect recipe for fat bottomed angel stew

by okapi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley to the Rescue (Good Omens), Fluff, Frottage, No beta we fall like Crowley, Oral Sex, Other, Season of Kink 2020, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24719107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: A certain naughty angel is about to be sacrificed by a Satanic cult.Cracky, fluffy, smut. For my Season of Kink bingo card. Square I-1: Spanking.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 116
Collections: Season of Kink





	the perfect recipe for fat bottomed angel stew

**Author's Note:**

> The spanking in this fic is light, short, fun, and cracky. If you're looking for a serious, hardcore walloping, this isn't the fic for you.

**_all hail Satan, all hail Satan, all hail Satan_ **

**_all hail Satan, all hail Satan, all hail Satan_ **

“Do you really think it’s going to work this time?” whispered one robed figure to another robed figure while ten other robed figures chanted in a circle on the rug. One of the ten was also turning a heavy crank of a roasting spit with one hand and stirring the contents of a small pot with the other. The small pot sat beside a large bubbling cauldron, both of which rested on a roaring fire in an enormous hearth.

“Of course, it’s going to work!” came the indigent reply, also in a whisper. “We’ve got a throne and a sacrifice this time. Now, stop stepping on my hem!”

“Sorry. The throne is nice, but the sacrifice looks, well, a bit old for the part of vestal virgin, and Gordon said he found him in Soho bookshop.”’

“Hush.”

**_all hail Satan, all hail Satan, all hail Satan_ **

**_all hail Satan, all hail Satan, all hail Satan_ **

“What’s that smell? Garlic and butter?”

“And truffles. Nice truffles. It’s the sauce.”

“Sauce?”

“For the sacrifice. You don’t think our Lord of Hellfire deserves a _seasoned_ sacrifice?”

“Gordon’s idea, I suppose? He such a foodie.”

“Gourmet. Now, hush and chant!”

**_all hail Satan, all hail Satan, all hail Satan_ **

**_all hail Satan, all hail Satan, all hail Satan_ **

_WHOOSH!_

“HULLO-O-O!”

A demonic breath with the force of a gale extinguished the fire beneath the cauldron, and a demonic roar drowned out the thud of twelve robed persons crumpling into twelve robed heaps on the rug.

The soles of snakeskin boots clomped in mildly exasperated beats on the wooden floorboards of the cabin. Then the clomping stopped.

“Really, angel?”

“Mmpfgh!”

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley vanquished the blindfold from Aziraphale’s eyes and the gag from Aziraphale’s mouth, but he left the angel hanging above the cauldron, trussed by wrists and ankles to the spit like a suckling pig.

“It was all a misunderstanding, Crowley!”

“Yeah, I can see that, but I don’t think I’ll mention to the big boss in my next progress report that these,” Crowley coughed as he looked scornfully at the unconscious dozen, “ _loyal followers_ thought they could tempt him with a bit of,” he leaned over the cauldron and sniffed and scowled, “angel stew.”

“Crowley, please.” Aziraphale squirmed and strained against the ropes which held him.

Crowley snapped his fingers once more, and Aziraphale was unbound and standing upright. He immediately gave Aziraphale’s long white robe an appraising glance. “What look were they going for with that, angel?”

“Vestal virgin,” said Aziraphale self-consciously, but he raised his arms and spun round, his long white sleeves flowing.

“Ugh. I hate those.” Crowley turned his head, surveying the rest of the cabin. His eyes rested on the throne. “But that’s not bad,” he observed. “Not bad at all.”

As Crowley turned towards the throne, Aziraphale piped up behind him, “Yes, I have been admiring the craftwork myself.”

His thoughts elsewhere, Crowley ignored the remark. “You know, I was in the middle of something important when I got the message that deep-fried halo was about to be on the menu.”

Crowley sashayed across the room like a drunken whore on a tightrope, then paused, just before the throne, spun round, and snapped his fingers. The arms of the chair disappeared, and Crowley gracefully and neatly folded himself upon the seat. “It played havoc with my schedule and my plans. I’m rather put out with you, angel.”

He gave Aziraphale a look which made Aziraphale blush.

“Oh dear, are you very cross?” asked Aziraphale sweetly as he studied the floor of the cabin and swayed a bit on his bare feet.

“ _Very_ cross.”

Aziraphale raise his eyes and shot Crowley a look which made Crowley snap his fingers.

At once, the rug began to roll itself up, and twelve robed loyal followers were rolled up in it. With a final snap of Crowley’s fingers, the rug slid out of the door of the cabin, and the cabin door closed behind it.

“I’m especially cross with you for making me have to deal with _those_ people,” huffed Crowley. He nodded toward the window, from which a coiled rug could be seen tumbling down into the valley. “They are so embarrassing.”

“I know, I know,” sighed Aziraphale. “I really don’t know _what_ you’re going to do with me.”

“What I ought to do,” said Crowley, letting his voice fall to a tempting rumble, “is _put you over my knee_.”

They held each other’s gaze for a tight, hot moment, then Aziraphale looked away. “I suppose there’s nothing for it,” he lamented as he hitched up his robe and skipped toward the throne.

As soon as Aziraphale had draped himself across Crowley’s lap, his bare bottom on display, Crowley’s hand came down.

_WHAP!_

“Oof!” exclaimed Aziraphale with a satisfied smile.

“Tell me this, my dear Aziraphale: why precisely did you get yourself captured by what has to be one of the most incompetent and poorly outfitted cabals on the island?”

“Three reasons, my dear Crowley. First, truffles.”

“What truffles?”

“The ones over there in the garlic sauce. The leader, I believe he calls himself ‘Gordon,’ and I got to talking about sauces in the bookshop, and he hit upon the perfect recipe for…”

“…fat-bottomed angel stew?” finished Crowley. He didn’t wait for a reply.

WHAP!

“Oh!” exhaled Aziraphale with a full-bodied shiver.

“All right, so you wanted to lick the spoon, so to speak. What was the second reason?”

“Houdini.”

Crowley frowned. “I hate to break it to you, angel, but there wasn’t a single Houdini among that lot.”

“Not them, me. I have been studying the works of Harry Houdini, and when they tied me up, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to try out my escape tricks, but Gordon must’ve been a Boy Scout, or a merchant marine, because those knots were really rather difficult.”

“Oh, for Satan’s sake!”

WHAP! WHAP!

Aziraphale moaned.

“What’s the third?”

Aziraphale said nothing.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale sniffed. Crowley snorted.

“Naughty angels need to ‘fess up. Posh sauces and fancy slipknots might, _might_ , have been why you got yourself in this mess, but it isn’t why you didn’t get yourself out of it.”

“I did it because I knew you would come!” wailed Aziraphale. “I’ve missed you so! You’ve been so busy!” As soon as the cry escaped his lips, he wilted, his head and feet drooping.

Crowley’s hand came down very slowly, and then it was rubbing instead of striking.

“Come up here, angel.”

Aziraphale sat up and curled his arms around Aziraphale’s neck.

Crowley hitched Aziraphale’s robe up to his waist as Aziraphale straddled him. Then he gripped Aziraphale’s buttocks in both hands and squeezed.

“I’m soft,” whispered Aziraphale.

“Wonderfully, wonderfully soft,” agreed Crowley. “I’m a huge fan of fat-bottomed angel stew, but these tossers have no idea how to prepare it. You have to _knead_ it.” Crowley’s hands clenched and unclenched as Aziraphale moaned and bounced in his lap. “Really work it. Give it a good, thorough, demonic seeing-to.” Crowley pressed himself to Aziraphale’s chest, the better to look over Aziraphale’s shoulder and down his back. He made an admiring noise at the view. “It’s been said before, angel, but I am enamoured of your arse.”

“I know. You wrote a play about it, remember? Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale squirmed and peppered kisses along Crowley’s jaw. “I’ve missed you.”

And then Crowley’s hands were everywhere, sliding under the robe and caressing Aziraphale’s skin. After millennia of trial and error, he knew precisely how to rub and pinch and tease and toy until Aziraphale was wet between the legs and whimpering whorishly.

Crowley watched his own hands make ripples and waves under the white cotton.

“I’ll give one thing to ‘em. The vestal virgin kit is accommodating.”

Aziraphale began to grind in earnest, and Crowley’s hands returned to the part of Aziraphale he lusted after most.

“Come for me, beautiful.”

In response, Aziraphale exhaled a long, shuddering sigh and tilted his head back. Crowley kissed his neck and chin. Aziraphale moaned and rolled his hips.

“Oh, oh, oh…”

“See? It’s not that our side doesn’t like chanting, it’s that they never hit just the right note. Fuck.”

Aziraphale melted, limp and sated.

“You know, angel,” Crowley hands rubbed Aziraphale’s lower back and buttocks, “the next time you get yourself in a scrape like this…”

“Mm?”

Aziraphale nuzzled at Crowley’s neck. Crowley sighed.

“…I’m probably going to get you out of it and give you a good spanking.”

Aziraphale hummed contentedly. After a while, he said,

“This _is_ a nice chair.”

“Yeah, I might make room for it back at my place. What do you think?”

“Ooo.”

“That settles that.”

Crowley curled the fingers of one hand and brushed them against Aziraphale’s cheek.

Aziraphale drew back and looked up. He raised one eyebrow.

Crowley looked rather sheepish and shy for the purported inventor of the Spanish Inquisition. He murmured, “If you’re keen…”

Aziraphale fixed him with a stare of heavenly sincerity and declared,

“Yours is the only spoon I want to lick, Crowley.”

Crowley winced. “We’ve really got to work on your dirty talk, angel.”

Unfazed, Aziraphale slid the floor, drawing his robe off as he descended.

“Oh, yes. That’s better,” said Crowley. “Much better.” He openly ogled Aziraphale’s bare arse while Aziraphale fussed with the front of his trousers. “Oh, and before I forget, why don’t you use your powers of good to convince this Gordon to stick to truffles and garlic and leave Hell’s Kitchen to the professionals?”

“It’s number two on my To-do list, right after this.” Aziraphale licked Crowley’s erect shaft from base to head.

“Of course,” mumbled Crowley. “Priorities.” Then he added, soft and breathless, “You know, angel, it’s true, when once you’ve had ethereal head, you never, ever go back.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing. Please, please, angel. I’ve missed you, too.”

And when Aziraphale’s had taken the whole of Crowley’s cock in his amazing, warm, wet, tight, gag-free orifice, Crowley sunk further into his throne, gazed upon his delicious fat-bottomed angel, and sang, deep and low,

“…make the rockin’ world go' round.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
